


Preventative Measures

by Wildrook



Series: Tender Mercies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildrook/pseuds/Wildrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' friends are overprotective, and it's driving him crazy.  Stiles flashes back on some memorable examples.  Then Peter offers his solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Derek's Method

**Author's Note:**

> AU set after season 2. Let's just pretend that none of the alpha pack/darach stuff has happened. Doesn't mean I won't pull in some of the characters and concepts eventually, but for now there are none of the departures, deaths, or kooky werewolf aging issues.

            Each member of the pack was protective of Stiles in his or her own way, and it was beginning to drive the teen out of his freaking mind.  Oh sure, he understood the tendency of the wolves to view their human pack-mates as more fragile, but it was starting to get ridiculous where Stiles was concerned.  After all, just how many times had he saved their asses now, and they _still_ thought he needed to be treated like glass? 

            He was pretty sure that he could trace the upsurge in protectiveness back to the whole Gerard/kanima debacle.  Once the dust had settled and everyone had time to process all the shit that had happened, there was suddenly a great deal of angst over what Gerard had done to Stiles.  It was as if the idea of the old geezer beating the crap out of a sixteen year old kid was somehow worse than the guy torturing two other teenagers just because the latter were werewolves and the former was Stiles.  Ok, so Erica and Boyd had been pretty much fine only hours after being released from the electrical current, while Stiles had looked like a bruised and bloody mess for days afterward, but honestly, _they’d been tortured_.  There really wasn’t any comparison.  And Stiles had gotten worse beat-downs from a hard day of lacrosse practice.

            Alright, not really.  It had been bad.  He’d had nightmares.  And maybe a couple almost-panic attacks.  And sure he’d been plagued by self-doubt and paranoia…  _Okay_ , he’d admit it, he’d had his own little episode of personal crisis where he’d seriously thought about locking the door to his room and barricading it against all the nasty the world kept sending his way, but – and here was the key part his friends were missing – _he’d_ _eventually moved on_.

            It was amazing what therapy, talking to friends, and the semi-regular kicking of monster ass could do to build up a guy’s confidence and get him over a trauma.  Ms. Morell had turned out to be a surprisingly awesome shrink considering that she was a public school guidance counselor and all.  And what he couldn’t tell her, he usually found himself babbling to a shockingly patient Lydia, who totally got the whole “damaged human amongst supernatural-types” – after all she’d just made it through her own bout of zombie-wolf induced crazy. 

            Aside from talking out his doubts to a sympathetic ear, Stiles had found the frequent run-ins with supernatural hostiles surprisingly helpful in regaining his equilibrium.  He was under no illusion that he was invincible or somehow on the same physical level as the wolves, but give him some credit – he could usually take care of himself.  And more than that, he was damn well going to take care of the people he cared about, something which he’d quickly realized he couldn’t do from his room. _That_ more than anything had driven him to deal with the aftermath of his ordeal – the realization that he was more afraid of losing the people he loved because he did nothing than he was of losing himself because he failed.  Nothing was going to scare Stiles away from helping his friends, no matter how much crazy shit he had to face.

            So why, if _he_ had moved on, couldn’t his utterly dim friends?  He understood the need to protect the people you loved, but why the hell couldn’t his friends understand the concept of “overprotection”?

            It was Derek, of all people, who first brought this trend of protectiveness to Stiles’ attention.  It had been only a few weeks after the showdown with Gerard and the kanima in the warehouse, and everyone was still recovering and adjusting to the new pack dynamics.  So of course that was when everything went to crap…

*****

            _It was bad.  Really fucking bad.  Stiles fell heavily against the filthy alley wall, using the moment’s reprieve to catch his gasping breath.  He felt Derek collapse beside him and chanced a glance at the battered alpha.  The man looked like he had been through hell.  Blood, too much of it Derek’s own, spattered his torn and shredded clothes, and the raw edges of wounds could still be seen through the ragged fabric.  Then Stiles looked down at his own scraped and bloody hands and felt a grim smile on his lips as he realized that he probably didn’t look much better.  He tried to ignore the way his hands shook and concentrated on breathing; lately his nerves hadn’t been in the best of shape, but he really couldn’t afford to sink into a panic-attack right now._

_The wolves had been meeting in the railway depot; Derek, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, even Jackson, and of course Stiles, because no way was he going to be left out.  It had become a semi-regular occurrence in the last few weeks, a chance to feel each other out, to see if this pack-thing could actually work, and to get a handle on their wolfy-abilities.  Unfortunately, at the latest meeting, the last of Gerard’s followers decided to rear their ugly heads in an ambush.  Stiles was a little hazy on details in the chaos that followed, but he’d been nearest to Derek when the first arrows had struck, and the alpha had shielded him and hauled him along on the wild escape that followed._

_Now it was a couple of hours later, and the two of them had spent the time running from hunters in the twisting maze that was Beacon Hill’s warehouse district.  Derek’s alpha abilities and some quick thinking on Stiles’ part had gotten them to apparent safety in a dirty, narrow alley, without a hunter in sight.  But their problems most certainly weren’t over.  For one thing, they had no idea where everyone else was.  Stiles had been trying to call Scott, or any of the others, since they had gotten separated, without success.  He would have been worried even if a snippet of conversation overheard from a passing hunter hadn’t suggested that all of their friends had been captured.  Assuming this was true, Stiles could only hope that they would all survive long enough to be rescued._

_Which presented problem number two, because normally Stiles would feel pretty confident about Derek’s alpha strength versus a handful of stupid human hunters.  Unfortunately, the teen suspected that some of the arrows that had struck home in the first moments of the attack had been laced with wolfsbane, explaining why the werewolf wasn’t healing quickly and why his strength seemed lacking when they were forced to confront any of their attackers.  If Derek didn’t get treated soon, their friends wouldn’t be the only ones whose lives were in danger._

_Stiles drew a deep breath and let his head thunk back on the bricks of the wall.  “Alright, just give me a second to think,” he said, needing to break the tense silence they had fallen into._

_“Stiles, go home.”_

_The teen turned slowly toward the wolf.  “Excuse me?  Now isn’t exactly the time for joking.”_

_The alpha scowled.  “I’m not joking.  Go home.”_

_Stiles snorted.  “I don’t think so.  We have to get the others back.”  Over the last weeks Derek had actually started to pull back on some of the arrogance he had shown since becoming alpha, and Stiles had started to think that the guy could be a decent human being after all (or werewolf, whatever), but now, facing the beginnings of a very familiar sourwolf, he was seriously doubting that assessment._

_Derek looked agitated, his fists clenched and a muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.  “I’ll get them.  Go!” he growled, giving one of his patented Glares of Intimidation +10._

_Stiles met his gaze squarely with a glare of his own.  “Umm, no.  You obviously need my help.”_

_“You’re just a human; you’ll get us both killed.  I don’t need you in the way.”_

_Derek’s words lashed at Stiles, rocking the teen back.  Immediately he felt anger bubble up.  “I. Am. Not. Going,” he ground out, squaring off against the taller man.  No way in hell was he letting stupid Derek Hale prevent him from helping his friends._

_The wolf snapped.  “I can’t lose any more pack!” he screamed, his eyes flashing red and his voice deepening.  “Just fucking leave!”_

_Stiles was about to be seriously pissed, but Derek’s words and the emotion behind his eyes suddenly registered and made the teen pause.  Panic.  If there was one emotion that Stiles knew too well, it was panic, and at the moment he could see panic very clearly in Derek’s eyes._

_And suddenly the alpha’s actions made sense.  The guy had lost his entire family, and now, when he was finally starting to assemble some semblance of a new one, he was facing the possibility of losing it all over again.  “I don’t need you, go away” translated to “I want you far away from all this bad” in Derek-speak.  Well damn.  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody cared, and as usual just didn’t verbalize it well.  Now Stiles would have to be nicer to the guy in the future.  But first he needed to make it clear that he was not going to accept this particular form of protection._

_“_ We _won’t lose anyone,” he told the wolf softly, meeting the snarling alpha’s red gaze and hoping that Derek understood – this was his pack too.  “And if you think I’m walking away from_ our _pack, or you, than you’re not as smart as I secretly gave you credit for.”  Derek looked startled, whether from the backward compliment or from the declaration of unity Stiles couldn’t be sure, but the red abruptly faded from his gaze.  Satisfied that he’d made his point Stiles leaned back against the wall and began to mentally categorize their options.  Not that there were many options presenting themselves.  “Now just give me a second to think,” he announced again._

_Derek was still for a moment, frustration warring with an unreadable expression in his eyes.  Then he sighed and began, “Stiles, you’re human-”  At the teen’s glare he held up a hand.  “I mean, you could just leave.  You’re not a wolf; they probably aren’t interested in you.”_

_Stiles snorted.  “Please, they probably consider me a traitor to my kind or something for hanging out with you guys.  Speciest jerks.  Nope, not going to work.  Nice try, sourwolf.  Accept it; I’m here unless you plan on knocking me out and leaving me in a ditch somewhere.”  He looked over quickly.  “But don’t, 'cause I’d probably die from whatever gross stuff lurks in the puddles around here.”  The teen wrinkled his nose and shuddered.  “I don’t even want to know what the puddles_ are _.”_  

            _Derek rolled his eyes.  “You should be happy you can’t smell them.”_

_Holy crap!  The sourwolf had made a rare joke.  Stiles chose to take this as a good sign that Derek was coming around to his way of thinking, and hoped it wasn’t really the wolfsbane affecting the man’s brain._

_“Stiles…,” Derek’s voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t really comfortable with what he was about to say.  “I know you’ve been having…trouble since Gerard.  You shouldn’t be here.  You shouldn’t be part of any of this.”  There was such guilt in his tone that Stiles just_ knew _that Derek was blaming himself for their current predicament, and probably Stiles’ involvement in anything wolf related at all._

 _Stiles took a shaky breath and answered as dismissively as possible.  “Dude, way too late for that.”  He was so not getting into his problems now; there was too much at stake.  And besides, Derek really needed to do something about this guilt-complex that he sometimes slid into.  “And all of this,” Stiles waved his hands wildly to encompass all of the wolfy, supernatural BS that they seemed to encounter so frequently of late, “totally not_ your _fault.”  After all Derek wasn’t the one who had started the teen’s “werewolf problem” in the first place.  Stiles straightened as his mind made a sudden connection.  With a grin he snapped his fingers and started to dig through his pockets.  “Speaking of…,” he said as he found his phone and began to scroll through his contacts, “what we need is some help.”_

_Distracted from their argument by Stiles’ sudden change in demeanor, Derek furrowed his brow in confusion.  “Everyone’s been captured.”_

_“Not everyone,” Stiles replied distractedly.  Where the hell was that number?  He was sure he hadn’t deleted it.  “There’s your creepy uncle.”  Derek growled, causing Stiles to shoot him a glare.  “Hey,_ you’re _the one who decided to make him pack.  I was all for killing him.  Again.  I’d say it’s time he earned his keep.  Aha!”  He’d finally found the number - he’d forgotten that he’d changed the name on the entry to “Creeperwolf”.  It had seemed appropriate after the number had mysteriously made its way onto his phone about a week ago.  And no, Stiles didn’t want to think about just how Peter had managed that.  He was still trying to wrap his mind around the psychotic wolf’s surprise resurrection; he did not want to contemplate the man’s stalker-motives.  The guy was incredibly creepy – lurking in shadows and possibly-hitting-on-him-type creepy.  The teen just hoped that the older wolf proved to be equally useful._

 _“After that, I’m calling the Argents,” Stiles added as he hit the call button.  At Derek’s answering sound of protest, Stiles gave him a_ look _.  “Hey, the enemy of my enemy.  If these are Gerard’s followers, chances are they’ll be going after Allison and her dad sooner or later,_ and _we need the backup.”  Things were still tense between the pack and the Argents.  Stiles thought it was kind of stupid, but he also got that everyone needed a little space to get past the trauma of the past year._

_When there was no sound other than the ringing of the phone in his ear, Stiles looked over at the quiet wolf.  Derek was watching him with a worried gaze.  “Dude, happy thoughts.  We’ll get them back,” Stiles told him encouragingly._

_“Stiles…,” for a second it seemed like Derek might actually be about to have a real meaningful moment with him, before the alpha huffed out a resigned sigh and leaned back against the alley wall, crossing his arms.  “I am definitely knocking you out and leaving you behind when the others get here.”  He paused and turned a smart-ass grin toward Stiles.  “But I’ll leave you in someone’s car if that makes you happier.”_

_The teen gave him an incredulous look.  “Jerk.”  And damn it, Derek just might do it if he was really determined to keep Stiles out of harm’s way.  Before the teenager could make any further reply, the call finally connected and a voice purred in his ear with a thoroughly sinful tone._

_“Stiles, to what do I owe this late-night pleasure?”  Goddamn creeper…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. So this is now a series. Buckle your seatbelts; this is going to be a long ride. This particular story will be up pretty quickly, but there's a lot more unwritten after it.


	2. The Betas' Attempts

            Everything had worked out of course.  With the others’ help, they’d managed to free the captives and take care of the douchey hunters.  It had been the first time they’d all worked together.  (Even Lydia, who had been with Allison when the call came that someone had abducted her boyfriend.  Lydia on a warpath had been a beautiful, terrifying sight to behold – and Stiles was vastly amused by the image of Jackson as the damsel in distress.)  In Stiles’ mind the encounter had been their first real bonding experience as a pack.  It had also marked the end of his little crisis, allowing him to let go of his personal fears in favor of saving his friends.

            Unfortunately for Stiles it had been just the beginning of his friends’ continued, and often unwanted, attempts to “save” _him_.  While he’d managed to avoid getting knocked out and left behind that night, he hadn’t managed to convince Derek to stop trying to do the same at every dangerous situation since.  The only good thing about the alpha’s actions was that now Stiles understood that the “stay at the loft, Stiles” and the “stay in the car, Stiles” and the “go away, Stiles” were just the werewolf’s way of looking out for him.  Damned annoying, but kind of sweet - didn’t stop Stiles from protesting at every turn and doing his absolute best to drive Derek crazy in retribution, but sweet.  Besides, exactly how the hell was leaving him alone with the creepy uncle 90% of the time a way of protecting him again?

            Oh well.  If only it was Derek alone who tried to protect Stiles in stupid ways.  But no, the betas cheerfully followed in their alpha’s footsteps.  Unfortunately, they were a bit more… hands on in their approach.  There had been one memorable occasion on his last birthday, when they’d dealt with those harpies…

*****

            “ _Stiles, look out!”_

_Stiles had barely turned toward the voice before someone slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.  He heard a rush of air as something large passed through the space he had just been occupying, followed by an angry shriek as the harpy that had tried to decapitate him was denied its prey.  His breath was forced from him in a surprised gasp and he flailed for a moment beneath the soft form that was attempting to smother him._

_“Erica!” he spluttered.  “Not that I’m not grateful for saving me from death by flying bird-woman, or the current view, but could you maybe get off me before I use up my remaining oxygen?”_

_The girl straddled atop him gave him a wolfish grin complete with fangs.  She raised herself slightly, so that her chest wasn’t_ quite _crushed against his face.  “You’ve got to learn to enjoy the opportunities life throws at you, Stilinski.”  She wiggled a little to emphasize her point._

_Stiles narrowed his eyes and tried very hard to resist temptation.  He thought he succeeded pretty well considering what he was facing.  “You’re a horrible person.”_

_“Keeps me up at night.”  She winked at him and offered her fist._

_He bumped it with his own, rolling his eyes at her sass.  “Now get off me.”  He pushed at her shoulder and she indulged him by moving away.  She jumped to her feet, grabbed hold of his arm, and yanked him up with a casual show of her wolf strength.  Way to make a dude feel manly._

_Stiles waved Erica away and turned back to the magical equivalent of a dog-whistle (except, meant for birds) that he was setting up in the abandoned factory where the harpies had built their nest.  Stiles thought it looked a lot like the transmitter E.T. had built to “phone home” and between that and the dog-whistle analogy Deaton had used to describe how the thing worked, Stiles really hoped it would actually drive the bird-women out of town like the veterinarian claimed – not call more of them.  And of course, it wasn’t exactly easy to set the thing up while being dive-bombed by monsters intent on clawing his face off, but then, what else did he expect – it was just another day in Beacon Hills.  Never mind that this particular day happened to be his birthday._

_The teen sighed.  Scott had promised him awesome birthday awesomeness, like video game playoffs and movie marathons, to last the whole week leading up to his birthday, because they were bros like that.  But then a couple weeks ago Beacon Hills had sent its latest supernatural disruption of their lives, and that plan had gone out the window.  Typical. So Stiles had accepted that the awesome week of birthday awesomeness was a bust.  He just hadn’t expected his actual birthday to suck quite as much too.  While they (hopefully) now had a solution to their little problem, the implementation of that solution had taken most of the day to arrange.  So now, not only would Stiles not have a chance to celebrate with his friend, but he probably wouldn’t get home in time for the traditional birthday dinner with his dad.  Which would result in the sheriff giving him a sad, confused look when he finally did get home, because Stiles wouldn’t be able to explain_ anything _to him.  Stiles was getting sick of seeing that look on his dad’s face._

_And, it seemed, nobody else actually remembered that today was Stiles’ birthday.  Not one of them had so much as wished him a “Happy B-Day, Stiles!”  Not even Scott.  He got that they’d all been busy, and had more pressing concerns on their minds right now, but really?  This was the first time in his life that he had more friends than he could count on one hand.  Was it too much to expect at least one of them to remember?_

_The teenager slammed a piece of the contraption into place, needing to vent a little frustration, then glanced over to the other side of the factory from which various shrieks and snarls of battle were emanating.  Abruptly he froze, suddenly aware that one of the feathered monstrosities was moving above him in the rafters.  It was probably preparing to pounce on him, hoping to catch him by surprise.  Stiles held his breath, waiting for the moment of its strike.  If he timed it perfectly (and he knew he could), he should be able to dive out of the way, grab the baseball bat he’d left leaning at his side as he passed, and come up to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting birdie.  Stiles smirked; she would never see it coming._

_Of course, Stiles was so focused on the actual threat above him that_ he _never saw the large form barreling at him from behind.  He couldn’t help noticing though as Boyd body checked him, just as the harpy dropped from the rafters.  Stiles let out a pained “oof” as he was smushed against the contraption, then watched somewhat morosely as Boyd clawed at the harpy, sending her soaring off with a screech.  Once the monster was gone, the werewolf turned his golden eyes toward Stiles, searching quickly to see if he was injured._

_“I’m good. Thanks for the save, man,” Stiles said, plastering a peppy smile on his face.  He liked the quiet wolf too much to tell him that the rescue had been completely unnecessary and had only served to add to the collection of bruises Erica had already bestowed upon him._

_Boyd nodded and turned to rejoin the rest of the fight.  Stiles sighed and turned back to his work, reaching for his bat as he did.  He was damned well going to show_ _that he could take care of himself – he’d have that thing in his hand before any of the others could so much as think of pushing him out of the way._

_“Stiles!”  A shoulder slammed into him just as his fingers brushed the smooth wood, sending him to the ground hard as another harpy swooped by_ miles _above his head._

_“Seriously!” Stiles growled, glaring up at Isaac from his new seat on the gross floor,_ again _.  “I need more protection from all of you than I do from the monsters we’re fighting.”_

_Isaac stared down at him, then shrugged with a little curl to his lips.  “Maybe you should start wearing your lacrosse pads, like, all the time.”  Dammit, how the hell did the guy manage to pull off that innocent, angelic look while speaking that level of sarcasm?  It wasn’t fair; Stiles never managed to look innocent while snarking._

_“Go away,” Stiles grumbled, climbing painfully back to his feet._

_Isaac grinned, his eyes laughing as he exited with a bow, as if to say “of course, milady.”  Stiles flipped him off.  Officially the worst birthday ever._

_“Stilinski, down,” a voice demanded as a hand shoved him firmly in the chest, sending him straight onto his ass._

_“God damn it, Jackson!” Stiles growled as he watched another high-flying harpy soar over their heads._

_“What?” the jock was smirking down at him, looking more amused than concerned for Stiles’ well-being.  “Wouldn’t look good if we let you get killed on your birthday.”_

_Stiles stared for a moment, his brain frozen, then launched himself at Jackson._

_“What the-!”  Jackson sputtered as the other teenager wrapped him in a death-grip hug.  The werewolf tried to disentangle himself from the boy, but found Stiles to be remarkably resilient._

_“You remembered!” Stiles exclaimed joyfully._

_“What?”_

_“You remembered my birthday.  I’d have never thought you, of all people, would remember.”  Stiles paused, and pulled back slightly to examine the other teen, as if suddenly wondering if he were possessed or something.  “Really, never would have thought it’d be_ you _.”_

_“Get off me you idiot!” Jackson snarled, finally shaking him loose.  “We all know it’s your birthday, the others are planning on taking you out or something to celebrate tomorrow.  But in case you haven’t noticed we’re a little preoccupied right now.”_

_Stiles tried to play off his somewhat embarrassing reaction with nonchalance.  “Oh.  Right.  Of course, I knew that.”  Jackson snorted and walked off._

_Stiles stared after him for a moment before shaking his head.  Focus, Stiles.  He turned back to the contraption and started fiddling with a piece that was giving him particular trouble.  “Not a word,” he ordered without lifting his gaze._

_“I didn’t say anything.”  The silky smooth voice emerged from the shadows at the base of a nearby staircase.  Stiles could hear the laughter beneath Peter’s words and even without seeing the older werewolf, he could imagine clearly the smirk on the creeper’s face._

_“You were thinking.  Loudly,” Stiles insisted petulantly._

_“My apologies.  For thinking.”  No, there was nothing condescending in that tone.  Stiles banged on the problematic piece, trying his best to ignore the now silent Peter.  The man had once again refrained from actually joining the fray, claiming that he still wasn’t up to full strength after his resurrection.  He’d taken up his current position not long after they’d entered the factory and was only exerting himself when one of the creatures focused its attention on him.  The wolf had been watching Stiles for most their time there, not saying a word or interfering in any of the teenager’s encounters with the betas and harpies.  As usual, when he found himself the subject of the older man’s scrutiny, Stiles felt like he was about to jump out of his skin.  Why the heck did Peter Hale keep watching him like this?  It was so not helping his already miserable day._

_“If Derek told you to watch me or something, you can just fuck off.  I don’t need to be protected.”  Stiles finally couldn’t take the man’s silence any longer._

_“I’m well aware of that.”  There was none of the usual sarcasm lacing the wolf’s words and Stiles’ gaze jerked to him in surprise.  Peter was staring at him, unreadable as always, a slight smile on his lips._

_Stiles opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say to that, but stopped when Peter’s eyes suddenly flickered away from him and started tracking something over the boy’s head.  Not once looking away from Peter, Stiles reached for his bat.  He gripped the solid wood in his hands and waited, watching carefully where Peter’s gaze traveled._

_Suddenly the teen turned, swinging his baseball bat with vicious strength.  It connected solidly with the harpy that had been swooping down on him, sending her careening across the factory to crash into the wall over the heads of some very startled betas.  As they stared across at Stiles in shock, the teen swung the bat to his shoulder and gave them a little wave, smiling smugly._

_“As I was saying, ‘Well aware.’”  Stiles managed to hold back a yelp as Peter’s voice sounded right in his ear._

_Stiles spun and glared at the wolf who stood at his shoulder, far too close for comfort.  The teen put the sudden pounding of his heart down to adrenaline and not terror at the psychopath’s proximity.  Nope not terror, despite the fact that the man scared the shit out of him.  “Do_ not _creep on me,” he ordered, tightening his grip threateningly on the bat._

_Peter shrugged, his face a study in innocence, then casually reached out and shoved the stubborn piece of the contraption into place.  The thing gave a sharp buzz and suddenly whirred into spinning life.  There was a noise, just at the edge of Stiles’ hearing, that made the wolves shake their heads in irritation.  The harpies’ reactions were not so mild.  They shrieked, suddenly flying in erratic loops, before abruptly exploding into showers of shiny dust.  Okay, not quite what Stiles had been expecting._

_“So, not a dog whistle then,” he muttered watching the harpies pop like crazy fireworks._

_Peter’s brow slowly arched.  “You didn’t listen to a word Deaton said, did you?”_

_Stiles made a dismissive noise and attempted to shrug off his inattention, turning from Peter.  He thought he could be forgiven his distraction considering the truly suck-tastic day he’d had._

_Of course, he should have known better than to turn his back on the creeper.  “By the way,” Peter’s voice was right in his ear.  Stiles could swear that he felt the man’s breath on his skin.  “Happy birthday, Stiles.”_

_The teen swung around so fast that he almost unbalanced himself.  Peter was already back by the stairs, seeking shelter from the showers of sparkles that were raining down from the exploding harpies.  Stiles almost doubted that he’d actually heard the words, but the smirk the psychotic wolf sent him was far too smug.  Okay, if that wasn’t creepy then the teen didn’t know what was._

_Once more Stiles found his mouth opening while completely unsure of what he was going to say to the older man, when a force at his back abruptly sent him sprawling to the ground.  He rolled over and glared up at a grinning Erica.  “You totally owe me,” she crowed.  At his incredulous look, she pointed at a spatter of sparkles on the ground where Stiles had been standing.  “I just saved you from becoming a pixie.” Apparently a harpy had exploded unnoticed over his head and threatened to turn him shiny._

_Stiles let his head fall back against the hard concrete floor.  Distantly he could hear Peter chuckling at his misery.  Stiles loved his friends, he really did, but right now he would give almost anything for an actual dog whistle.  He’d have to talk to Deaton.  Maybe it could be his birthday present._


	3. Lydia and Allison’s Advice

            Stiles really did understand the wolves’ tendency to be protective.  Endowed with their superhuman abilities, they would naturally be more cautious of their ordinary companions.  So he forgave them their unfortunate attempts at protection.  Usually.  When he wasn’t covered in bruises because of it.

            But what Stiles really couldn’t understand was his human friends’ tendency to act the same way.  Of all the pack, he thought Lydia and Allison should get that he was fully capable of taking care of himself.  Unfortunately, a recent conversation had disabused him of this notion…

 *****

            _With a sigh, Stiles settled himself onto the chair in Deaton’s waiting room and propped his leg up on the coffee table.  He was still adjusting to the stupid air cast that he was going to have to wear for the next month or two because of that stupid slinkie.  Peter’s suspicions had been right; Stiles had managed to screw his ankle up pretty well.  It meant more time than ever sidelined with research duty, and consequently more time in Peter’s company – a very unappealing prospect considering his recent realization about his attraction for Peter Hale.  Then again, maybe it was an appealing prospect… or rather,_ Peter _was an appealing temptation for ogling whenever Stiles was forced to spend time in his company.  Stiles scrubbed at his eyes tiredly, pushing these disturbing thoughts away with effort.  He’d promised himself that he was going to ignore his attraction for the psychopath in favor of healthier pursuits.  Like not being attracted to a psychopath._

_At least something good had come from the whole slinkie incident.  It was now halfway through the summer and things had been thawing considerably between the Argents and the pack.  With each new supernatural threat, the two groups found themselves working together more and more closely.  Stiles had long guessed that it was only a matter of time before a truce was called, and the cooperation that had been forced during the slinkie hunt had been the final push needed to tip the scales._

_Which was why they were all here at Deaton’s today.  The mysterious veterinarian had been chosen as the neutral third party to help negotiate what was essentially a peace accord – a meeting to figure out the rules that would allow them all to live together peacefully and continue to protect their town.  As far as Stiles was concerned the Argents were pack (not that he’d be mentioning that to Chris Argent or Derek and Peter anytime soon), so this whole thing was long overdue.  It was also boring as hell._

_After several hours of back and forth arguments and dull nitpicking, they’d finally called a break.  Most of the others had wandered off in search of lunch, but Stiles’ ankle was starting to ache from having it down for so long, so he’d opted to have his lunch catered a la Scott’s willingness to bring some back for him.  Instead of walking around Beacon Hills and enjoying the fresh summer air, he was stuck inside trying to keep his dumb ankle elevated while he waited for the pain meds to kick in._

_He’d just started to drift off in a really uncomfortable position when Lydia and Allison returned._

_“Hello, ladies,” Stiles said stretching the sleepiness from his muscles and waving to the surrounding seats.  “Come, join Stiles on these marvelously plush accommodations.”_

_Allison smiled skeptically and Lydia rolled her eyes, but both settled in beside the boy.  He stared hungrily for a few moments at the cartons of Chinese that they were unpacking before Lydia shoved a container of lo mein toward him with another roll of her eyes.  He really loved the girl._

_But… not quite in the same way he had before.  Stiles frowned as his thoughts turned to this latest oddity of his emotions.  The shift in his relationship with Lydia had come as a bit of a shock to him.  He kept trying to wrap his head around the fact that his eight-year crush, one of the most beautiful and popular girls in school,  had somehow transformed into his second-best-bestie, actually willing to not only be seen with him but to hold real, meaningful conversations with him.  And while he still found Lydia drop-dead gorgeous and would drool like your average love-sick teenage boy over her any day, something had definitely changed in his feelings for her.  It was now closer to the way he felt about Scott, only if Scott were a sexy girl, scary-smart and with a diva streak a mile wide.  He didn’t understand it, but he was surprisingly ok with the change.  Of course, instead of a smart, sexy girl his own age, Stiles was now crushing on an older, psychotic man instead – so, not so good after all.  Seriously, the wiring in his brain scared Stiles sometimes._

_He shook off his weird thoughts and looked at his friends, munching away at their Chinese.  He was glad things were finally officially cooling off between the pack and the hunters – it meant there would be far less angst involved in their friendships.  And while Allison and Scott weren’t technically dating again, Stiles could see the signs clearly – a reconciliation would not be long in coming.  He was thrilled for his bro, and for Allison.  And for himself too.  “So, once we’re all formally friends again, you can totally teach me some of your mad-hunter skills,” Stiles suddenly joked, allowing some of his thoughts to spill out into the open.  Okay, but not quite a joke.  He’d been contemplating asking for Allison’s help before the fallout.  Now that things were looking friendlier, he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by again._

_Allison and Lydia paused in their eating and exchanged a look.  Stiles was immediately on alert; it was never a good sign when girls shared_ that _sort of look.  “Stiles,” Allison began slowly, “maybe you should take it easy.  Your ankle and all.”  She nodded toward his propped leg._

_“Psh.  Ankle’s not gonna be in a cast forever,” he replied with a dismissive grin.  “Gotta be prepared to get back on my feet.  Hah!”  They didn’t laugh and his smile faded._

_“Maybe you should just back off for a while, Stiles.  Leave the fighting to Scott and the others.”  Allison was giving him the earnest, concerned eyes now._

_“What?!”  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing._

_“You’re not a werewolf, Stiles,” Lydia suddenly cut in, direct as ever.  “And you’re not a hunter.  Do you see me going out and trying to take on things that can rip me in half without a second thought?”_

_“Well,” Stiles pointed out, “there was that time with Jackson and the hunters…”_

_Lydia’s expression shut him up.  “A special situation.  I don’t do the physical stuff because that’s not my specialty, and it’s not yours either.  You’re no hunter.”_

_“FYI, I don’t want to be a hunter, I just want some pointers,” Stiles told them irritably.  “And_ Allison _wasn’t a hunter until a few months ago!”_

_“But I was trained to be one since I was a kid, even if I didn’t know that’s what I was learning.”_

_“My point exactly.”  He pointed to himself.  “_ I _can learn.  The more I learn, the better prepared I am.  Look, I think I’ve done pretty damn well on my own so far; training can only help.”_

_“Really?  You’ve done well?” Lydia looked pointedly at his cast._

_Stiles’ face scrunched.  “That doesn’t count.”_

_“We’re just worried about you, Stiles,” Allison tried to placate him._

_“You know what?” Stiles was too annoyed to be appeased.  He grabbed up the crutch that he was supposed to use to keep as much pressure off his dumb ankle as possible, and struggled to his feet, ignoring Allison and Lydia’s motions of concern.  “It would be nice if people stopped worrying_ about _me and started working_ with _me.  I’m not helpless!”  He hobbled off, ignoring their attempts to call him back._

_Stiles needed to cool down, away from any of his friends.  He’d finally started to notice their increased propensity to overprotect him during the last few weeks, and this latest example threatened to send him over the edge, just when they didn’t need any distractions.  So he headed back toward the examination room which had been converted into a makeshift conference room for the meeting, complete with a large round table and a ring of chairs.  The teen expected the room to be empty, so he was pretty startled to find Peter Hale still seated at the table._

_Well, sort of seated.  The man had his feet up on the table and his chair tipped back, precariously balanced on its hind legs.  His hands were interlocked over his stomach and his eyes were closed.  He gave every appearance of being fast asleep._

_Oh no.  Stiles so did not want to deal with the man_ now _.  He turned to shuffle away, grateful that the wolf hadn’t seen him, only to be stopped dead by an amused voice._

_“I thought you weren’t ‘helpless’, Stiles.  And yet you’re running away from me.”  Stiles turned slowly back.  Peter’s eyes were still closed, but a smirk now quirked his lips.  Of course he’d heard the conversation with the girls.  Stiles felt his anger spark again – the man always seemed to be laughing at him._

_“Please,” the teen said defiantly, stumping into the room, “the only thing I’m running away from is that stupid super-villain goatee you’ve got.”  He’d been itching to point this fact out since the wolf had first resurrected, but self-preservation had kept him from cracking any jokes.  Now, frustrated and confused as Stiles was, it seemed like a fine time to throw self-preservation out the window._

_“Super-villain goatee?”  Peter’s tone was dangerous.  He cracked an eye open and gave the boy a look of polite inquiry._

_“Yeah.”  Stiles decided to elaborate, warming to the subject.  “It’s like some campy, old-school villain, like…” he wracked his brain for examples, “evil Spock, or from Doctor Who, the M-”_

_“Really, Stiles,” Peter interrupted, an absolutely delighted grin spreading across his face as he fixed a leering gaze on the teenager.  “If you wanted me to be your Master, all you had to do was ask.”_

_Stiles' anger suddenly overwhelmed him.  He was sick of his friends treating him like he was helpless, he was sick of his confusing teenage emotions, and most of all he was sick of fucking Peter Hale and his fucking innuendos.  Stiles swung his crutch around and swept it at Peter’s chair, disrupting its precarious balance.  Unfortunately, he did not get to enjoy what would have been the highly satisfying sight of Peter on his ass on the floor.  The werewolf moved with his supernatural speed and was on his feet before the chair even clattered to the ground.  He looked down at the chair as if perplexed by its sudden change in position, then raised his eyes to Stiles.  For a moment, they flashed electric blue._

_It was at this point that Stiles realized that he was alone in a room with a psychopath and that it may not have been such a good idea to attack the guy.  Shit.  When had he forgotten that Peter was a dangerous fucker?  “Oh God,” Stiles muttered, stumbling back.  Suddenly his frustration with the whole situation was overwhelming, and no, he was not almost ready to cry.  Absolutely not.  “You…suck,” he spat, “you just suck.”_

_Peter stared at him, his head tilted to one side in contemplation.  Finally he said, “I can do that too.  If you ask nicely.”_

_Stiles blinked, incredulous at the words.  Then he couldn’t help it – he laughed.  The sensation of wanting to cry fled as abruptly as it had come and the laughter bubbled out uncontrollably.  He shook his head – Peter-fucking-Hale, unbelievable._

_A slow smile grew on Peter’s lips.  Without taking his eyes off the boy, he uprighted his chair then pulled out Stiles’ seat and gestured to it.  When the teenager accepted, the older man grabbed the chair that Derek had previously been using and set it in front of Stiles so that he could prop up his ankle.  Then Peter settled back into his seat._

_“You really don’t like the beard?” he asked, rubbing a contemplative hand over his chin._

_Stiles shrugged.  “It’s grown on me.” He waited a beat, then added, “But not as much as it’s grown on you.”_

_“Ha.  Ha,” Peter answered dryly, leaning back in his seat._

_“You have to admit, it_ is _totally a super-villain/evil twin sort of goatee.”_

 _Peter thought about this for a moment, then half-shrugged.  “Fair enough.  I suppose I_ am _a super-villain sort of person.”_

_“Wannabe,” Stiles muttered under his breath, fully aware that Peter could hear him._

_The wolf flashed him a quick smirk in reply, then kicked back his seat to resume his previous lounging position and closed his eyes, ending the conversation.  Stiles spent the next ten minutes in an oddly comfortable silence, watching the werewolf slowly breathing, before Scott and Isaac returned with boisterous noise and the promised food._

_The conversation with Peter had been sufficiently distracting, so that it wasn’t until the next day that Stiles realized he’d completely forgotten about the conversation with the girls.  And it wasn’t until some time later that he realized he’d missed the meaningful look that Scott and Allison had exchanged over his head when the meeting resumed._


	4. Scott’s Plan

            Stiles really should have known that something was brewing.  His friends had been acting increasingly weird since the slinkie incident – telling him to “take it easy” and “stay out of trouble” and trying more than ever to keep him off the front line.  It made a certain sort of sense that he’d be relegated to “desk duty” due to his injury, but Stiles had never imagined that they’d take it to such an extreme. 

            For the first few weeks after the meeting with the Argents, Stiles had thought things had just finally calmed down in Beacon Hills.  As far as he’d known there were no supernatural nasties, horrible murders, or even much pack activity at all.  The wolves had apparently decided to cut back on their meetings, and everybody had been off doing summer things.  Stiles had been a little bummed that he wasn’t seeing more of Scott, but he’d known his friend was busy with his job and with his goal of improving his grades in the upcoming school year.  Of course the school stuff would have been more fun with Stiles’ help, but Scott had always seemed to have some excuse to duck out whenever Stiles suggested they get together.  And the others hadn’t been much better. 

            Lydia would let Stiles hang around for only an hour or two of bitching about everybody’s absence before she’d either throw him out or Jackson would show up and do it for her.  Erica and Boyd had just officially started dating, so Stiles had felt a little awkward hanging out with them, if he could even find them in the first place.  Isaac and Allison had seemed to be spending all their free time with Scott, maybe in alternating shifts or something, but they’d never seemed to have a free shift to share with Stiles.  (And why, if Scott had time to spend with them, hadn’t he had time for Stiles?  Maybe Stiles should’ve just moved in with Scott like Isaac had if he’d wanted to get some face-time.)  Derek would just close the door in his face without a word any time he showed up to hang out at the alpha’s loft.  And Peter… Peter was best avoided altogether. 

            After a while, Stiles had begun to get the feeling that his isolation was deliberate.  By the end of August, he’d been extremely frustrated and highly suspicious.  Not to mention vaguely panicked.  Had he done something?  Had he somehow pissed his friends off?  Scott couldn’t have found out about his crush on Peter, right?  Would that have been enough to disgust Scott and make him want to drop Stiles?  The uncertainty of it all was driving the teen crazy!  And then he’d found out what was going on…namely, his stupid best friend had come up with a stupid plan to protect him and had gotten the stupid pack to go along with it.  Had Stiles mentioned that Scott was stupid?  No, he wasn’t bitter at all…

*****

            _It was a quiet Sunday afternoon and Stiles was tired of kicking around his house by himself.  He hadn’t seen Scott or any of the others in almost three weeks, and his dad was hardly home since he’d needed to pick up extra shifts until Beacon Hills’ decimated police force could be reinforced.  So Stiles felt like he was in isolation or maybe quarantine.  Yeah, that was it.  Stiles felt like he had some sort of horrible disease that had made him a pariah amongst his friends.  What, were they afraid of his cooties or something?  Well, he wasn’t going to take this anymore.  His cast would finally be off in a few days, school was set to start in two weeks, and he was not going to be stuck in his house for the last few days of summer.  He was going to get to the bottom of the mysterious actions of his friends before he lost his mind.  Maybe he would discover that it was something good, like they were all planning a secret Stiles-appreciation party or something.  Yeah, right._

_Stiles called Scott.  Predictably following the pattern of the last few weeks, Scott didn’t pick up.  Stiles glared at his phone for a minute before an idea struck.  He grabbed the house phone and dialed Scott’s number again.  As he’d suspected, the Stilinski landline was so rarely used that Scott didn’t have it programmed into his phone, and so he didn’t recognize the number._

_“Hello?” Scott’s voice answered hesitantly._

_“If you hang up on me, I swear to God I’m going to tell everyone we know about that incident in the fifth grade with the Pekinese and the whole screaming like a little girl.”_

_“Stiles…”_

_Stiles cut him off.  “Where are you?” There was silence. “Where. Are. You,” Stiles ground out._

_“The Hale house,” came the reluctant reply._

_Stiles drew a sharp breath, anger flashing through him.  “I’m coming over.”_

_“Stiles…”_

_“I’m coming.  You’d better be there when I arrive.”  He hung up before Scott could say anything more, then angrily turned off his cell phone as it started to ring._

_The teen was fuming as he made the long drive into the preserve; he knew why Scott had to be there.  Before the weirdness with his friends had begun and whenever there wasn’t some supernatural crisis to deal with, the pack had begun to have regular weekly meetings.  They’d decided to move them from the train depot to the Hale house after the hunters’ attack.  Besides, the ruins in the middle of the preserve provided enough isolation to allow for any werewolf shenanigans.  Sunday had been the usual day to meet; quiet and free from other obligations.  The wolves had typically used this time for training in the use of their werewolf abilities and fighting skills under Derek’s tutelage.  Stiles, at first discouraged from participating because of his human constitution and then outright forbidden due to his injured ankle, had either watched the training with hungry eyes or brushed up on his bestiary research so as to be better prepared for whatever supernatural quirk was thrown at them next.  Supposedly, these pack meetings had died off more than a month ago, but if Scott was there now, was Stiles really supposed to believe that they’d ever stopped at all?_

_When he finally pulled up in front of the ruined house, Stiles almost thought that his blood was about to boil from his anger.  There, parked before the house, was not only Scott’s new bike, but both Derek and Allison’s cars.  He’d been right; they were meeting without him.  He stormed into the house to find the pack assembled, with various levels of guilt and discomfort on their faces, except for Peter who just stared expectantly at Stiles with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.  “All of you?” Stiles asked incredulously, looking around at all the wolves, at Allison, even… “Lydia too?”   The red-head avoided his gaze.  Stiles stared around the room, taking in not only his assembled friends, but also the scattering of books and papers that suggested that it was more than a simple training meeting.  Great, they were even working on cases without him.  The teen turned his furious glare to Scott, who stood shifting awkwardly in the middle of the room.  “What the hell is this?” he demanded._

_“Stiles, we were trying to protect you.”_

_“Protect me?” Stiles asked in disbelief.  “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all this time?  What the hell are you thinking?”_

_Scott raised his chin with the defiance and determination that Stiles usually cheered on.  Right now he wanted to punch the look off his stupid friend’s face.  “You needed time to heal and you obviously weren’t going to just sit back and let us do everything.  I didn’t want to keep dragging you into dangerous situations,” Scott told him._

            _“_ You _dragging_ me _?  Do you forget who usually does the dragging?  Remember who brought you to the woods the night you were bitten?”  Stiles knew the volume of his voice was rising, but he was getting seriously freaked out now that he was beginning to understand what his friends had done.  His gaze also skittered again to Peter at the reminder of the cause of all his misery.  The werewolf was watching the growing argument intently, leaning forward from his perch on the stairs._

_“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean that you should keep putting yourself in danger, Stiles.  I hate seeing you get hurt.”  Scott’s voice was also rising._

_“We all get hurt!” Stiles shouted.  “It’s the nature of the crap we deal with; there are dangers.”  Peripherally he could see the others growing uncomfortable as his anger rose.  Across the room, Isaac had drawn in on himself, looking anywhere but at Stiles as if he didn’t want to attract his attention.  Erica and Boyd looked like they would rather be somewhere far away.  Jackson was attempting to appear bored, but his jaw was clenched and he wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes.  Derek didn’t look away, but there was a distinct air of defiant guilt in his gaze – the arrogant bastard. Allison and Lydia both looked upset, although Lydia was doing her best not to let it show._

_“But you don’t heal the next day!” Scott countered with just as much heat.  “You’ve been in that cast for almost_ two months _.  After Gerard it took weeks for the bruises to fade.  Those ‘dangers’ affect you more, and I don’t want to see you get killed.”_

_“So, you’re telling me you’re willing to let Lydia or Allison face those dangers, but not me?”  He gestured at the only other humans in the room.  Both girls opened their mouths to respond, but Scott shouted right over them._

_“Of course not!  But Allison’s a hunter, Stiles.  She’s trained to deal with this stuff and she’s got her father at her back.  And_ Lydia _doesn’t run out to face the monsters like you keep trying to!”_

            _“Since when do I run out to face monsters?”  It was a full blown screaming match now, like they hadn’t had since they were twelve and had argued over who would win in a fight, Batman or Superman.  (Totally Batman, btw.  Intelligence and cunning beat superpowers any day, and yes, Stiles recognized the irony of that particular debate in light of the current problem.)_

_“That slinkie…” Scott started._

_“I didn’t know it was there!” Stiles overrode him.  “I thought they were all in the woods chasing after you guys.  If you remember, I was trying to save your asses, just like I always do.  Just because I’m willing to fight for you doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.  It doesn’t mean I’m going to just … I don’t know, walk in front of a speeding bus or something and get killed.  But you want to talk about getting hurt?  You know what hurts, Scott?  Your best friend dumping you like you’re some sort of … burden.”  Scott looked startled as if the idea had never occurred to him.  “And your pack treating you like you’re worthless.  I can’t believe you all went along with this bullshit.” Stiles swept his burning gaze over the others and was perversely satisfied to see some of them flinch.  The only one who would actually look at him now was still Peter.  In fact, Stiles thought he even saw a spark of wolf-blue in the man’s eyes, but he was too distracted to be sure._

_“I am fully capable,” Stiles continued.  “I have saved you all, loads of times.  Have you forgotten that?”  Scott opened his mouth to reply and Stiles gestured sharply to stop him.  He was so worked up that the words just flowed recklessly on.  “No, let me finish.  Just because you want to keep me out of the loop or the wolf-club or whatever, does not mean that I’m going to stay out of danger. You’ve known me how long? You’ve seen me get into my father’s casework how many times?  I’m going to get into_ something _.  So I’m telling you right now; this is a stupid plan.  You don’t have a monopoly on protecting the people you care about, and I care about you idiots.  Although I guess that makes me the biggest idiot of all.”  Stiles’ words abandoned him abruptly; he just didn’t know what else to say to make them understand exactly what they’d done._

_The silence in the room grew suffocating.  When Scott finally replied, his voice was hesitant, unsure.  “Stiles, I didn’t mean to make you think that that we didn’t want you around.  I just knew you wouldn’t listen if I told you to stay back.  I thought some time away while you healed… I thought-”_

_“No,” Stiles cut him off again, not wanting to hear any more, “you_ didn’t _think, Scott.”  Without waiting for any of them to speak, Stiles turned and stormed from the room, slamming the front door behind him as he fled the house._

_Peter must have slipped outside in the last few moments without Stiles noticing, because the man was now standing at the base of the steps leading up to the house.  He was watching the teen with an absolutely unreadable expression on his face._

_Stiles stared for a second, then walked forward.  “Just…shut up,” he told the silent wolf, and pushed past him to reach his Jeep. And nope, there absolutely were no tears of anger and frustration, and most especially none of helplessness, threatening to spill from his eyes.  Absolutely none._


	5. Peter’s Solution

            In a way, Stiles supposed his friends’ tendency to go into protective overkill when he was in danger was kind of heartwarming, if, you know, it wasn’t so annoying.  Luckily the blowout with Scott at least put an end to the pack’s attempt to exclude him as a form of protection.  Of course it took a couple weeks for Stiles to even consider forgiving them for the shitty treatment, but the voicemails they kept leaving him went a long way towards softening him…

_Stiles’ record of voicemails for future blackmail purposes:_

_From Scott: [sounding pained and nervous] Dude, I’m sorry, for the hundredth time.  I honestly didn’t realize what it would look like to you.  I’m the worst friend ever._ Please _call me back.  We need to talk._

_From Allison: [earnest and concerned] Stiles, we’re really sorry… Please talk to us._

_From Lydia: Stiles. [long pause] We’re sorry. [distantly as if said away from the phone] Now you.  [Jackson’s voice also distantly] I’m not apologizing.  It wasn’t even my idea. [Lydia again, sharply] Jackson!  [some shuffling and unintelligible grumbling, then Jackson again, speaking directly into the phone.] Fine.  Stilinski, get over it. [Lydia, annoyed in the background] Jackson! [call disconnected]  (Marked for special attention by Stiles.  There would be vengeance.)_

_From Erica and Boyd: [Erica speaking] Batman, get your ass over here. [pause] We need to talk, okay. [longer pause, before Boyd speaks]  We’re sorry._

_From Isaac: Stiles, it’s Isaac.  Sorry._

_From Derek: [very long silence] Stiles.  [another long silence, then the call disconnected]_

            It never ceased to amaze him how articulate some of his friends were.  Still, he slowly came to appreciate their attempts, and so he decided to offer an olive branch of his own…

*****

_Despite his anger while at the Hale house, Stiles had still been observant enough to notice just what his friends were researching.  Now that he’d been alerted to a problem, a little digging into his father’s cases had quickly provided the information he needed._

_A series of animal attacks had been plaguing Beacon Hills’ wealthiest neighborhoods.  The victims were all hit by a strong force from behind, knocking them unconscious immediately.  They then suffered a series of claw-like slashes, causing some nasty injuries, but so far no fatalities.  Since they’d all been knocked out, no one had yet seen the actual creature doing the attacking._

_Stiles bet that the pack thought this was all the work of a rogue omega or some other sort of shifter.  He had a different theory.  Since he had access to the police reports, the teen knew that each victim was also missing some small, but extremely expensive object after the attacks.  The police had not connected this trend, since they didn’t know_ all _the victims had lost something, but Stiles had done some footwork and questioning once he noticed the coincidence and had discovered that this little fact was true of all the victims.  It was an easy detail to overlook; all of the missing objects that the police were aware of were things that might have been easily lost in the chaos of the attack.  Stiles however had noticed, and he had a pretty good guess for just what was happening._

_On the first day of school Stiles dropped into the seat beside Scott in Harris’ class and slapped a folder on his friend’s desk.  “Take a look at this,” he ordered, “get back to me with the results, and tell me if you should ever leave me out of the loop again.”  When Scott joyfully opened his mouth, Stiles held up a warning finger.  “In the meantime, don’t talk to me.  I’m still pissed.”  He thought for a moment more, decided that was all he had to say, nodded and turned to face the blackboard.  The bell rang just as Scott tried to speak again and Harris’ glare kept him silent for the rest of class.  Stiles made a beeline for the door as soon as the period ended and somehow managed to avoid Scott and the others for the rest of the day.  Not a bad feat he thought, considering he was one little human against a pack of werewolves, a hunter, and a high school princess._

_Stiles’ dad had a late shift that evening, arriving home after Stiles had gone to bed.  But at breakfast the next morning the sheriff was awake in time to regale his son with an odd tale.  Apparently a gardener who worked for some of the wealthiest families in Beacon Hills had wandered into the police station around midnight looking half-crazed.  The man had spontaneously confessed to living under a false name, having a criminal record a mile long, and to attacking and robbing a handful of his employers over the last few weeks.  He’d gotten the idea to make the attacks look like they were caused by an animal after all of the “animal attacks” that had happened last year.  (Thank you, Peter Hale.)  Without any explanation, the man now wanted to turn himself in.  Not only that, but once they were done questioning him, the man requested a cell with “thick bars and no windows so that he couldn’t see the moon”._

_“Weird,” Stiles had told his dad, fighting a knowing smile.  Later that day, when he took his seat in chemistry, Stiles held out a fist to an approaching Scott.  After his friend gratefully bumped it with his own, Stiles extended his pinky and looked expectantly at the other teen._

_Scott hooked his own pinky around Stiles’ and solemnly told him, “I swear I won’t ever leave you out of the loop again.”  Abruptly he flashed a crooked smile.  “I make no promises about trying to protect you though.”_

_Stiles thought for a second before nodding in acceptance.  “Fine, but neither do I.”_

*****

            So they were all cool again and Stiles had graciously accepted everyone’s apologies in their varying degrees of contriteness.  Scott had even invited him to a wolves-only meeting at the Hale house that weekend where they would return to business as usual now that the case of the crazy-gardener attacks had been solved.

            And that was how Stiles ended up here, sitting all alone in the front room of the Hale house.  It was funny – he could have sworn Scott had promised that they would actually be hanging out today, and yet, as soon as Stiles had gotten here the betas had headed into the woods and Scott had told him that he “needed to talk to Derek and Peter” and he’d be back soon to get Stiles, but maybe Stiles could “look through the bestiary or Hale files in the meantime”.  That had been almost an hour ago.  Stiles couldn’t help but have the nagging feeling that nothing had actually changed and he was going to have to knock some werewolf heads together before they got it through their furry skulls that he was capable of more than just “research”.

            The teen sighed and laid his head on his folded arms.  They’d redecorated while he’d been gone, adding several battered chairs, an equally battered sofa, and the rickety table that Stiles was currently seated at, all of which looked like they’d been pulled off the curb on trash day.

            Stiles fidgeted.  He shifted.  He started tapping his foot impatiently.  He _really_ wasn’t good at waiting.  Bored out of his mind, and needing something to distract him from the thought of marching out into the woods to express his wrath, Stiles pulled out his iPod, popped in the earbuds, and set it to play on shuffle.  For the first song or two Stiles hummed along, fingers tapping out the rhythm.  For the next few songs he started singing aloud and bopping in his seat.  By the time he reached the sixth song, the teenager was on his feet, dancing around with reckless abandon, and singing at the top of his lungs.  He was well aware that he probably looked like an idiot, but since none of the fucking werewolves were anywhere to be seen, he really didn’t care.

            A song with a particularly good beat came on and Stiles shimmied to the rhythm, belting out the words:

  _/Interesting sense of style_  
 _Ten million dollar smile_  
 _Think I can’t handle that_  
 _Animal in the sack_  
 _His eyes see right to my soul_  
 _I surrender self-control_  
 _Catch me looking again_  
 _Falling right into my plan..._  
 _I don't think you know (know)_  
 _I'm checking it, so hot (so hot)_  
 _Wonder if he knows he's on my radar (on my radar)_  
 _On my radar (on my radar)_  
 _And if I notice you I know it's you._  
 _Choose you don't wanna lose, you're on my radar (on my radar)_  
 _On my radar (on my radar)/_

            Stiles was mid-way through a verse when he spun around, finally turning to face the doorway into the room for the first time since he’d started dancing.  The note he was singing turned into a loud yelp of surprise as he was presented with the sight of Peter Hale leaning casually against the door frame, looking as though he’d been there for a while if the smirk was anything to go by.  The teen stumbled backwards, cheeks bright red as he tripped against an armchair and sat down heavily on its ragged cushion.

            “Careful,” Peter admonished, pushing away from the wall and walking into the room like he was stalking prey.  Stiles was fairly certain that he counted as a small woodland creature in Peter’s eyes, so this was not a reassuring image.  “You’ll end up back in the cast.”

            “And whose fault would that be?” the teen demanded indignantly, yanking the earbuds from his ears.  “Do you _have_ to creep?”

            “Yes,” Peter deadpanned, “it’s my natural state of being.”  He stepped in front of the boy and dropped a paper-wrapped package that he’d had tucked under his arm right into Stiles’ lap.  “Here.”

            “Oof,” Stiles huffed as the unexpectedly heavy weight landed in a dangerous zone.  “Careful!  There are other parts of my body I’d like to keep undamaged besides my ankle.”

            Peter paused as he crossed the room, turning back to sweep his cool gaze very slowly up the teen’s body until he finally locked eyes with the boy.  “Do tell,” he purred.

            Stiles could feel his skin heating up again and cursed his complexion because there was no way his blush wasn’t visible.  The teen pressed his lips together, thinking frantically.  He’d been working on a method to deal with the uncomfortable feelings Peter produced in him – pretend they weren’t happening.  Stiles forced his eyes away from the older man and gazed down at the package in his lap.  Hah.  Package.  In his lap.  Stop it, Stiles.  Focus.  “What _is_ this?” he asked, frowning suspiciously.  His imagination ran rampant; he was quite sure Peter was capable of handing him anything from the latest supernatural files to a fresh, bloody heart.  There was just no telling with their resident psychopath.

            Peter shrugged as he continued on to Stiles’ vacated chair by the table and arranged himself upon it.  And no, Stiles thought as he watched the man from the corner of his eyes, there was absolutely nothing sexy in the way he sprawled across the seat.  Nope, nothing at all, certainly not those legs, encased in tight jeans, stretched carelessly out in front of him.  Not a single thing sexy, that was Stiles’ story and he was sticking to it.  “A birthday present,” the wolf answered dismissively, interrupting the boy’s smutty contemplation.

            “Dude, my birthday was in May!” the teen exclaimed in pure outrage.  Didn’t anyone remember his freaking birthday?  Wait, Peter had even wished him a happy birthday, what the hell?

            The man leaned back in the chair, gazing up at the blackened ceiling without the slightest hint of concern for this fact.  “And mine is in a few days.  Happy birthday me.”

            Stiles snorted.  “So, what, are you a hobbit now?”

            “No, Stiles,” the wolf replied patiently.  “And that is no mathom for you to put on display on your mantle.”  At Stiles’ incredulous look, Peter raised a brow.  “What?  I’ve read Tolkien.”

            When Stiles continued to look at him suspiciously, Peter sighed.  “Consider it a solution to your current problem, Stiles.  See for yourself.”

            The teenager wasn’t convinced, but honestly the temptation of a wrapped gift was too much to bear and he finally caved and began ripping the paper from the box with almost child-like glee.  Peter lounged back in his chair with a satisfied smile.  The contents of the wrapping were soon revealed to be a dark, smooth wooden case, just under three feet in length.  Curiosity clear in his expression, Stiles undid the latches on the case and lifted the lid slowly, as if he expected a bomb to go off with any sudden moves.  The teen blinked at the box’s contents.  “What is this?” he asked.

            “It’s a sawed-off shotgun, Stiles,” the older man’s tone clearly added the obligatory “you idiot” as subtext.  Peter began to study his nails and to all appearances seemed to be paying very little attention to the teen.

            “I can see that,” Stiles replied a bit curtly, staring down at the weapon nestled in a soft, velvet lining.  “Why are you giving it to me?”

            “Because you said ‘no’.”

            The boy’s brow furrowed.  “What does that even mean?”

            Peter sighed.  “It means, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, that Scott’s right.  You’re vulnerable.  And if you insist on being involved in our world, until you have fangs and claws and supernatural healing abilities of your own, you need a deadlier weapon than a bat or your beloved Jeep.”

            Stiles was still trying to process the sight of the heavy gun in his lap, so he asked the first thing to pop into his head in response to Peter’s extraordinary statement.  “You consider my Jeep a weapon?”  Hey, the man had just complimented his Jeep (or at least he thought he had), that deserved some attention.

            “You’ve driven it into battle as if it were a charger or a battering ram on numerous occasions.  I think it counts.”

            “Cool.”  Stiles liked the image this description produced in his head.  “But why a shotgun?”

            “One.  Because a shotgun blast to the face will deter most things-”

            “Or piss them off,” the boy interrupted.  “Have you forgotten the tendency of supernatural things to heal, Mr. Supernatural-Thing-That-Heals?”

            “Not if you come prepared.  And that’s the beauty of the shotgun in particular – versatility.  With a little preparation you can tailor the shot to fit your needs.”  He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket and flipped open its top to reveal several rows of shotgun shells.  He began pointing to the different rows.  “Wolfsbane for werewolves –” he gave Stiles a look, “-don’t get any ideas.  Silver for something like your ‘slinkies’.  Rock salt for ghosts… the possibilities are endless.”  He flipped the lid shut and tossed the case to the teen.

            Stiles caught it without thought and spluttered for a moment, staring incredulously at the man.  “Rock salt…  Oh my god, you just stole that from Supernatural!”

            Peter shrugged, laughter flickering behind his eyes.  “If you insist on watching a show about hunters amidst a group of werewolves…”

            “Hey, those writers do their research.  A lot of the things they’ve shown have actually turned out to be useful…”  Didn’t hurt that there was a hot cast too, but Stiles wasn’t sharing that particular fact with Peter.

            “If I may be allowed to continue?” Peter asked in a too-polite tone.  Stiles pressed his lips together and held his hands up to indicate that he wasn’t stopping him.  “Two.  This will not be your only weapon.  You’ll be receiving training, just like the rest of the pack.”

            Stiles felt his brain grind to a halt.  “I … what?”

            “You. Will be joining. The pack. For training,” the werewolf spoke slowly, enunciating his words, as if in doubt that the teen could understand them.  “Human-appropriate training, obviously, but skills necessary for your continued interactions with the supernatural.  I’ve already spoken to Derek about it.  He just helped me convince Scott.  That’s why you’re here today.”

            Stiles looked at the man helplessly, trying to process what he was being offered.  Damn, but he couldn’t believe both Peter and Derek had gone to bat for him like this.  He didn’t really want to consider Peter’s motives, but Derek… well, he actually _was_ going to have to be nicer to the sourwolf now.  It looked like the alpha was finally ready to admit that he valued Stiles as a full member of the pack.

            While Stiles’ thoughts raced, Peter leaned back in his chair and waited, his gaze cool and patient and as unfathomable as always.  It suddenly struck Stiles to wonder how the man felt sitting here in the blackened shell of his family home where he’d been burned (twice) and where he’d watched his family die in the most horrible way.  Maybe Stiles did want to know something about the man’s motives after all.  “Why are you doing this?” he asked hesitantly.

            “Because it needs to be done.  And…”  Peter stood suddenly, and began to slowly approach Stiles.  Oh crap, he was a small woodland creature again.  “Since I’m the one doing it,” Peter continued, “this should prove immensely entertaining.”

            “What?” Stiles asked, licking his lips nervously.

            Peter watched the path of the boy’s tongue with apparent interest and seemed disappointed that Stiles hurriedly pressed his lips closed.  “My idea, my project,” he shrugged, drawing nearer.  “Derek’s stipulation.”

            That son of a bitch!  Maybe he’d been wrong – maybe the alpha really wanted to get him killed… or maybe maimed.  Yeah, maiming was more likely from Peter.  Definitely potential for lots of mental trauma.  This whole thing was probably payback for all the times he’d annoyed the younger Hale.

            As the panicked emotions played over the teen’s face, a smirk grew on Peter’s.  This did not go unnoticed by Stiles, who recognized it as the one the man wore when he found an idiot particularly amusing.  The teenager tried to display his disapproval of this expression with a death glare, but he doubted it had much impact since the wolf’s smile only grew. 

            “Don’t worry,” Peter told him.  “You’ll also be splitting your time with Derek, and even, unfortunately, Argent.  Hunters _are_ still the best source for teaching a human to deal with the supernatural after all.  But…”  Stiles blinked and Peter was suddenly leaning over him, his hands resting on the arms of the chair.  Damn werewolf speed.“… _I_ will be supervising your progress.”  He leaned closer, far too much in Stiles’ personal space for the boy’s comfort.  “And I believe in a very hands-on training method.”        

            Stiles gulped, feeling trapped as much by the intense blue gaze boring into him as by the body cornering him in the chair.  And now was not at all the time to think about how good Peter’s clingy shirt looked stretched across his tensed arm muscles.  Think, Stiles, how do you handle this again?  Oh yeah, ignore, deflect.  “You realize these things are highly illegal, right?”  He was proud that his voice only cracked slightly as he pointed to the shotgun in his lap, forcing his gaze away from the wolf under the pretense of looking at the weapon.

            Peter tried for a serious expression, though his eyes were still laughing at the boy. “Yes.”  He leaned slightly closer.

            “And my dad is the sheriff?”

            “Mmmhmm.”  Another few inches nearer.

            “Okay, just so we’re clear.”

            “Crystal.”  Stiles could feel the man’s breath ghosting across his cheek.

            “I hate you.”

            Peter smiled.  “You’ll be just fine.”

            After a moment’s pause, Stiles asked in a soft voice.  “Seriously, why?”  The teen had an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu.  He’d asked this question before, the night they’d dealt with the slinkies.  He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the answer.

            “Well, we’re, what was it again?”  Peter’s brow furrowed in mock thought. “…Team Steter, right?  Have to make sure we keep the ‘st’ part around, or the word loses something, don’t you think?”

            Stiles wrinkled his nose, his gaze flickering nervously around, trying to look anywhere but the man who was practically in his lap.  He was only partially successful, since every other glance skittered over the werewolf as if magnetically drawn.  “Steter?” he questioned, echoing Peter’s previous derision.  “Who came up with _that_?  Sounds stupid if you ask me.”

            The wolf nodded in mocking understanding.  “Ah, you _prefer_ Petles then?”

            “Oh my God!  I _really_ hate you,” Stiles declared.

            Peter leaned in suddenly, making Stiles freeze in abrupt panic.  The werewolf drew in a deep breath, his cheek almost brushing the boy’s as he scented him.  When he spoke, it was a whisper directly into the teen’s ear.  “No.  You really don’t.” 

            Stiles blinked and Peter was suddenly across the room, leaning against the door frame again.  “Now, come along, Stiles.  If you have enough energy for that horror you call dancing, you have enough to start training.”  He gave one last smirk and swept through the doorway.  Stiles heard the front door open a moment later.

            “Oh, fuck,” Stiles whimpered.  He was screwed.  So freaking screwed.  “Okay, Stiles,” he muttered, clenching his hands into fists, “this is what you wanted.  You can do this.  He’s just messing with you like usual.  Don’t let that distract you from the win.”

            “Stiles!” the sharp voice floated in from outside, summoning the boy, and promising “bad things” if he didn’t hurry to obey.

            “Shit!”  The teen scrambled from the seat, almost losing his balance completely as he flailed upright.  As he ran for the door, his heart pounding wildly, Stiles seriously wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Brittany Spears song is a tribute to this awesome [Steter video](http://youtu.be/OtpYCclyK-g)


	6. Preventative Measures

            At first, it had been amusing to watch the pack’s attempts to protect Stiles.  It hadn’t taken long for Peter to realize that each pack member valued the teen.  They had their various reasons, their various ways of showing it, but Peter knew that ultimately, whether they understood it or not, each recognized that Stiles was important to the survival of the pack.  So their desire to protect him was not unexpected.  The utter ineptitude of the majority of their attempts _was_ a bit surprising though.  But then, Peter had long ago noticed the tendency of people to be idiots when dealing with those they cared for.

            So Peter had watched the bumbling efforts and he’d been amused, mostly at Stiles’ discomfort – he loved seeing the teen’s frustrated reactions.  But when the attempts at protection began to threaten his favorite toy, namely, when they began to threaten Peter’s access to Stiles, well Peter just couldn’t allow things to continue as they were.  Besides, if he didn’t act, Stiles would probably end up dead because nobody had ever bothered to prepare him for the dangers that Beacon Hills presented.

            The first step in remedying the situation would be to convince Derek and Scott.  Stiles himself had already gone a long way toward persuading Scott as a result of their little spat.  So that left Peter the task of swaying Derek…

*****

            _“What’s your end game?”  Derek eyed his uncle warily.  The alpha’s entire attitude, from his crossed arms, to his solidly-planted stance, to his scowling expression, screamed that he didn’t trust the man sprawled across his couch._

_Peter sighed and let his head roll back against the sofa cushions.  He’d barely begun and he was already tired of trying to reason with his nephew.  “You need to understand, Derek.  After the fire I had two goals – revenge and survival.  I’ve already accomplished the first…” he paused, thought for a moment, then grimaced, “…mostly.  And you and your pack are key to maintaining the second.  I have a vested interest in ensuring the continued health and well-being of your pack.”_

_“But Stiles?”  Derek spoke the name as if he couldn’t understand the connection between the survival of his pack and Peter’s plans for the goofy human boy._

_The older Hale rolled his eyes.  “Please, you must know that the pack wouldn’t maintain cohesion more than a week if something were to happen to that boy.”_

_“How exactly do you figure that?” Derek asked incredulously._

_Peter sighed again.  Must he explain everything?  He held up a finger.  “One: McCall is still somewhat separate from the pack.  Stiles helps strengthen the bond.  If something happened to_ him _, Scott would be devastated.  Even if he didn’t blame you for whatever occurred, he would be in no reasonable state of mind to interact with the pack.  Either he’d distance himself, or you’d have to, for safety’s sake.  And trust me,” he gave his nephew a serious look, “you want Scott at your side.  Surely you’ve noticed the potential in that boy.  Give it a chance to mature, and he’ll be a natural,_ true _alpha.”  He couldn’t quite stop himself from smirking.  “I do know how to pick them,” he told Derek smugly._

_When his nephew’s scowl only deepened, Peter hurriedly continued, holding up a second finger.  “Where Scott goes, the Argents will probably follow, and as loathe as I am to admit it, we’re safer with such a powerful faction of hunters on our side.”  They both scowled at this admission, but neither commented further._

_Peter held up a third finger.  “Isaac would also probably follow Scott.  I’m sure you’ve seen how he’s latched onto McCall – he’s started living with him after all – which is perfectly fine, gives the poor thing a nice normal home life.”  Derek didn’t look convinced by the sincerity of Peter’s words, but then Peter didn’t really care.  “It’s fine,” he repeated, “as long as the group is maintained, but once you begin to separate, well…” he shrugged eloquently._

_“Once the pack begins to splinter,” he continued, holding up a fourth and fifth finger, “Erica and Boyd will grow nervous, and they’ve already shown that they don’t deal well with tensions in the family.  They’ll probably stay at your side this time, recognizing the safety in numbers, but it will be a weak bond and consequently, not very useful to you.”_

_He raised a finger on his other hand.  “Jackson, whose bond is already tenuous, will leave as soon as Lydia does, and you can be sure that without Stiles, Allison, or Scott, Ms. Martin will not be long in your company.”  He raised his seventh finger and looked at it in mock consternation.  “She doesn’t seem to like me for some reason.”_

_“I wonder why,” Derek replied dryly.  “Something to do with driving her temporarily insane maybe?”_

_Peter shrugged.  “Maybe.  So, to recap,” he wiggled his fingers, “if something happens to Stiles, we’ll be left with a weak pack, a handful of omegas or a weak rival pack, and severed ties with a hunting family with which we already have bad blood.  Not to mention the loss of two of the more intelligent members of your little band of misfits.  Would you like me to keep counting until I run out of fingers, or do you see what I’m getting at?  I don’t like the impact all of that will have on my odds of survival, so you’ll excuse me if I feel it’s important that we keep Stiles alive.”_

_“We’ve been trying to do that,” Derek answered defensively._

_“No,” Peter’s tone was that of an exasperated teacher.  “You’ve been treating him like an idiot child, which he very clearly is not.  So stop it, before you get him killed.  And don’t even pretend not to know what I’m talking about.  The boy said it himself; he won’t stand for being left behind or left in the dark, and if you continue to try he will only find his way into a situation for which he is not prepared or that we aren’t around to help him with.”  He rose from the couch suddenly and walked up to Derek.  It was time to get to the point.  “You know he’s fully capable.  The only reason you don’t want to include him is because you don’t want anything to happen to him, and that is exactly the wrong approach to take with Stiles if you_ actually _don’t want anything to happen to him.”_

_Derek was silent for several long minutes, his gaze flickering over the older man as if he could somehow read his thoughts if only he looked hard enough.  “And your sense of self-preservation is the only reason that you’re interested in Stiles?” he finally asked._

_Peter smiled, his answering gaze dark and giving nothing away.  “There are many reasons why I’m interested in Stiles,” he admitted, his tone a promise.  “Self-preservation is currently my primary focus though.  This is merely…preventative measures.”  When Derek’s expression hardened into a glare, apparently disliking some part of Peter’s answer, the older man rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Look, how about this?  In the course of training Stiles, I’m sure I can show a few things to the puppies as well.  Wouldn’t you consider that an added benefit?”_

_“What makes you think I want you anywhere near my betas?” Derek growled.  
            Peter cocked his head with a knowing smirk.  “Please.  You know that I can show them things that you can’t.”_

_Derek snorted derisively and began to turn away._

_Peter’s eyes abruptly flashed with electric blue and his hand shot out, stopping just short of grabbing the alpha, but effectively halting him mid-turn.  “Derek, I have more than a decades’ experience over you.  I was long done with training by the time of the fire, while you were still in high school.  You know very well that the alpha strength and speed were only a part of the reason you and Scott combined could barely face me the night I died.”  He drew closer to his nephew, his smile dark and dangerous.  “So you should understand that were you to somehow find yourself without your alpha powers, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”  Peter was still for a moment, the threat crackling like electricity in the air between them before he suddenly stepped back, allowing the scent of danger to fall from him abruptly.  He was nothing but innocent concern now.  “I’d have thought you’d be eager for me to share such knowledge.”_

_Derek remained unmoving, his expression empty.  “If you’re so good,” he questioned “why do you always seem to be avoiding the fight?”_

_Peter immediately became the picture of morose regret, “Aside from the fact that I’m still recovering from my resurrection?”  When this elicited no sympathy he shrugged carelessly.  “I told you, at the moment, my only goal is my own survival, so I’m not particularly interested in endangering myself for whatever stupid crusade is on the menu this week.  Give me something worth fighting for, and we’ll talk.”_

_Derek was quiet again, thinking.  Finally he nodded.  “Alright.  We’ll talk to Scott.  Since this is your idea, you can spend your time arranging Stiles’ training.”_

_Peter quickly tamped down his surprise – this was an added boon he hadn’t foreseen.  “Fine.  Good,” he replied, not quite able to keep the smile out of his tone._

_Suddenly Derek surged forward, grabbing Peter by the throat and slamming him against the wall.  “Understand, Peter,” he growled, his eyes flashing red.  “If Stiles gets hurt because of_ anything _that you do, I will hold you responsible.  And unfortunately for you, I_ do _have alpha powers, so you wouldn’t stand a chance.  I just want you to understand the situation – preventative measures, you see?  Do we_ understand _each other, Peter?”_

_“Perfectly,” Peter barely managed to get out around the constriction of his throat._

_Derek released him, and stepped back.  “Good.  Get to work,” he ordered, and walked away from his uncle._

_Peter coughed and rubbed at his throat.  He stared after his nephew for a moment, then quietly withdrew from the loft.  As he made his way back to the street a smile slowly grew on his lips.  His nephew’s little show of temper honestly didn’t concern him.  Not when he had such a pleasant task to look forward to._


End file.
